Meaning of Home
by 9r7g5h
Summary: Over the years, the definition of 'home' had come to mean many different things.


**AN** : I shouldn't be allowed to think thoughts at 2 am.

 **Disclaimer** : I do not own Xena.

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Home had had many different meanings.

Once it had been a farm- a sturdy wooden house; a barn big enough for a cow and a few goats; a scattering of chickens that never slept in the coop, instead laying their eggs in the field. It had been the smell of drying hay in the later summer, of snow up to her knees in winter, of fresh fruits and vegetables that seemed to ripen at her touch. It had been the smell of dirt, warm and nourishing and inviting for little hands that wanted to bury into it. It had been her father's rocking chair next to the fireplace, her mother's spindle, her sister's worn out blanket that she always fell asleep on. It had been a little room with two beds, where she could always hear her sister breathing, with a larger room right next door, offering the protection of open arms if the nightmares came.

It had been a place of expectations- that she would grow up before she was ready, get married to a man she didn't love, birth a handful of kids she didn't want, most of which she would mourn for before they could fully grow. It had been a place of order- up at dawn, breakfast while still half asleep, chores and errands all throughout the day only to collapse into bed after a quick wash to avoid getting the blankets dirty. It had a place of rules- writing only at night before the fireplace, avoid getting your head stuck in the clouds, never venture further than the town or the next hill over.

It had also been a place of love. Of whispered secrets shared with a sister in the dead of night, when they were both supposed to be asleep. Of warm cuddles between her parents during the winter, the entire family wrapped in a warm snuggle to drive away the chill. Of hugs and kisses and teasing that sometimes went too far, all in the name of good fun. It had been a place where she had known she was loved, and had been, to an extent, happy.

It just hadn't been for her. Not permanently, not in the long run, so Gabrielle had left.

For a little while, 'home' because a transition. It became whatever clearing they chose for the night, whatever inn they had come across, wherever they had settled their sleeping furs. It became the term for whatever plot of land was smooth enough to sleep on, and for that little while, it was alright. Not a transformation she ever could have imagined, but one that fit for the time being. She herself was changing, growing, becoming more and more the person she was meant to be, and so it always made sense that her definition of common words would change as well. Home home would always be with her parents, back on the farm, but just home? It was wherever she fell asleep.

But soon enough that changed. Changed because, while sometimes people thought home was a place, it could be a person.

It could be a warm smile that was sometime terrifying when a battle began, the leftover bloodlust that had driven her beginning to rage. It could be a set of eyes that could freeze just as easily as they could melt, depending on the owner's mood. It could be a pair of arms holding you close, close enough that her armor left indents on your skin, whispering that it was going to be alright, that it was going to be ok because she was there. It could be lips that kissed away tears, that interrupted laughter, that soothed rage depending on where they landed, sometimes soothing and sometimes rousing, sometimes just a reminder that they were in love. In love and happy despite the world trying to make them otherwise.

It could be a name, a name that fell easily from the tongue whenever it was used, that filled the mind and settled within the heart, because it was hers.

For a long time, Xena had been her home. It didn't matter if they were in a forest or a city, riding Argo or walking through the desert, on a ship or a hundred feet underground. It didn't matter- so long as Xena was besides her, Gabrielle was home.

Because, while sometimes people believed home had to be a place, it could be a person.

But there was a problem with that. With a place, you always knew where it was. You could go back there. Even if you had been gone for a long time, even if it had changed, so long as something stayed the same, you could return.

But when home was a person?

Standing at the exit to the crypt, her hands shaking after finally letting go of the urn that had weighed so heavily in her grasp, Gabrielle wasn't sure. Wasn't sure about her past, wasn't sure about her future, wasn't sure about what she should do.

Because when home was a person, what happened when that person was gone?


End file.
